


Times

by ponine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Complete, F/M, first fic yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:50:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponine/pseuds/ponine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps they were both destined to meet again, after it was over, in another time and another life. And again, and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Times

**Author's Note:**

> I'm unsure about this and I'm also not sure what to write here, so yeah. This is my first fic! And I'm nervous. I'm not a native english speaker so there might be some mistakes here and there, I'm sorry. Hope you like it anyway...

The first time they meet is in the worst place possible.  
Because she's torn and broken and alone, and he's high and mighty. And they wouldn't bother to spare each other a glance, both too busy with their own little lives. But then there's a night, a cold, black night, when he's not so mighty anymore and she tries to maintain the little pride she still holds.  
It's natural that their paths would cross, and the one hour they spend with each other - as she sees the part of him he would not dare to show anyone, not even himself, and he sees the side of her she thought was long gone - would change everything.  
But it was late, too late and it only takes a bullet and a second to ruin everything that could have been. It rains that night, and he laughs at the irony, but is thankful that he can hide his own tears as they blend with raindrops, and yet she manages to identify each one.  
"Pretend to be strong", she demands, perhaps a bit selfishly, "Just for now. It'll be over soon..."  
The first time they leave is in battle, and her last moments are spent with him and his are spent with the memory of her fresh in his mind.  
As he closes his eyes, he sees her, in a white dress smiling at him, and thinks perhaps next time they both could be luckier.

This time he's the one who gets dirty looks from unknown people, he's the one who the world has left behind. And she's once again alone, and hidden, like a little treasure who only few get the extraordinary chance to see. And he could have missed her, he could have looked somewhere else, because she's so tiny and so well blended with the crowd with her dark hair and dark coat. But he doesn't. She just shows up there and he's so glad she did.  
That's what he tells her the first time they spend the night. And neither is quite sure of what is going on, but suddenly she's leaning forward and he's got a hand on her waist and another on her sharp cheekbone, and her lips are so eager and yet trembling...  
They are luckier this time, as he had thought. But eventually, bad luck catches up to them and perhaps she's spent too many nights out in the cold, and in the end, she's lying on the bed they've shared for years now and he's holding her hand. She says, "I'm going", and he whispers, lips over hers for the very last time, "go".  
And she leaves him, and he watches, as he's doomed to do every damn time. Only a few years after, he would leave too, and the gold spots in her eyes are the last thing he sees before it all turns dark.

The third time, he's a politician and she really couldn't care less. It's only a night for him, and only a job for her, but in the morning neither of them are sure it was only that.  
He calls her, a few days later, and she doesn't know how the hell he even got her number to start with. She's tired and in a hurry and going to meet yet another client, but she picks up, and they talk for only a minute before she rolls her eyes and hangs up on him.  
It's her who calls the next time, and he's right in the middle of a meeting and could not be angrier. Still, he laughs when she mocks the voice of the man behind him and maybe his day gets a little bit better after that.  
Suddenly their calls are more frequent and she's his little secret and he's her brief escape. Though he would only meet after months of phone talks and text messages, he's very much sure when he wraps a string of her hair on his index and breathes, "I love you".  
It's natural that one day his career would end and they would find themselves moving to a much smaller and much simpler home, and though she's used to it, he's not. Eventually, he starts to care less for the bed and more for the woman lying in it, and this time, there are no big mistakes.  
When they leave, she goes first, and it's so sudden because it's their very first ride on the car they've managed to buy for an incredibly cheap price, and he's so happy he barely sees the animal on the road, but he does see her little faded smirk through the broken metal bars, and how her eyes turned upwards. Seconds after, he closed his eyes and waited.

And now she's waving hello to her pretty blonde co-worker, slipping in her apron and leaning lazily on the counter. She barely sees a boy who walks in and makes the little bell on the door ring, and he's got a few books under his arm and doesn't order a thing, just sneaks over to his usual seat. And she doesn't see a thing.  
Instead she would always glance at the blond, freckled boy who shamelessly stared at her co-worker, and the girl would glance back, so cute she could almost vomit. And he'd stare at her.  
This is the day he sees her, and she'd only see him weeks later, when her shift is over and he's still there, and perhaps he's overestimated his courage but it's too late now, when he walks over to her counter and asks her why.  
"Because I'm a nightingale", she answers, while cleaning the coffee stain someone's left on a table, certainly stealing the quote from somewhere or someone, "And he's the moonlight I fly to".  
It's not too long before the nightingale's course changes, and she notices he waits for her outside the coffee and they walk, he's going home and she's... Wherever. And he notices she leaves a full cup of his favorite tea on his usual table when days are cold because she hates seeing him shake and rub his hands together, like a little boy, but neither of them ever talk about it. He finally asks her where she goes when he leaves, and after her silence he takes her hand and she sleeps in his couch that night, and the other night, until every single one of his drawers have pieces of clothing she owns. He buys her a towel, she brings her toothbrush, and they don't talk.  
She would, in cold nights, rise from the couch she called a bed and sneak into his room, dragging her pillow and silent as a shadow. She laid down and pushed the covers above her, and in the morning he'd wake up with one arm around her waist and his nose buried on the crook of her neck. That too went unspoken, and how after a few nights he left a pillow there for her and the covers were already pushed down, welcoming her. One time he may have murmured "hi" when his arm found her waist, and she may have said "hello", and their little routine went on and on even when the winter was gone. The couch was forgotten; she'd head straight to his - their - bed.  
One night, when the streets were commemorating some silly event and the noise was too loud of either of them to sleep, she turned to him and her finger was absently trailing beelines on his chest. When she looked up and smiled, he lost it.  
Soon her lips were on hers - finally! - and on her neck and her jaw, and her jagged nails left red scratches on his back, and the covers laid discarted on the floor. The noise on the bedroom muffled the sound of the street folk.  
"Yeah".  
That day future was unwritten, unknown, though certainly predictable. She would die, she had to, and he'd watch it again and replay the same scene in his mind again and again and it'd torture him, until someday, they'd let him go too. And he would smile because he knew that he would find her again.  
And that was only one of the times.


End file.
